Whirling Death
by Ronald del Reagan
Summary: We all know Draven as the attention seeking, self centered asshole that revels in fame, but what if he had a secret life that only a select few knew about. Come along as we spectate Draven's second life as a skilled assassin, impeccable blade master, and unmatched duelist. Rated M for violence, language, gore, etc. There will be a pairing and a lemon.
1. Chapter 1

**Whirling Death**

**Chapter 1: "****The battle line between good and evil runs through the heart of every man."-Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn**

Rain pounded heavily throughout the nation of Demacia . Yet another stormy night, where the noble families would be harbored inside their prestigious houses and the streets would be empty. The guards, dressed in blue and white attire, continued their patrols nevertheless, although the chances of someone actually infiltrating their city-state were not likely at this given time.

A certain "executioner" had done this exact deed, though. He bypassed the guards tending the gate, or to put it more bluntly, shoved an axe in both of their throats. Unknown to many, the fame which he had acquired was nothing but a lie. A farce! The crowd actually believed that he enjoyed his executions, that he had an ever expanding ego, and that he talked in the third person regularly.

Fucking simpletons. It was all an act! An act that only he, his brother, and the Noxian High Command knew of. You see, Draven was actually quite the skilled assassin. His axe wielding skills were paralleled by no other, but everyone already knew that. Aside from it, he was incredibly well trained in stealth, hand to hand combat, pickpocketing, you name it. Quite literally a "jack of all trades".

Noxus High Command decided to approach the gem known as Draven differently. Instead of just assigning and "marking" him as a regular assassin, such as Talon and Katarina, they created a false persona for him. Something to distract Noxians and more importantly, _Demacians. _Nobody, Demacian nor Noxian, would _ever _expect Draven to be capable of pulling off these highly complex and severely difficult missions. So why would anyone ever question Draven for an assassination? They wouldn't, or that was the logic behind it. When high ranking Demacians were assassinated, they Demacians would turn to an infamous assassin whom had already built up a large amount of notoriety. Of course, their investigation would be fruitless since all of the "commonly" known assassins hadn't committed the particular crime. It was a truly ingenious plan.

And so, the Glorious Executioner continued on with his current mission. The target: Garen and Luxanna Crownguard. With the only two children of the Crownguard home gone, the house would soon crumble without a continuing bloodline. In doing so, one of the most politically influential families in Demacia would be snuffed, further increasing Noxus' lead in its ongoing battle.

Of course, Draven didn't really care too much about the impact it was going to have. He had been given a mission, and he would see it to the end. He didn't need a reason why, just a target and a weapon. It would be a shame about Luxanna, though, Draven actually thought she was quite cute. Then again, if Draven didn't kill every woman he thought was cute when the time called for it, he would've made a terrible assassin. This job calls for some truly inhuman deeds, and one must have a strong mental fortitude to withstand your own conscience.

He continued down the streets of Demacia, a cloak pulled over his head. The rain shrouded him, making it increasingly difficult to even see him at all. His destination was the Crownguard manor, which was about six blocks away. Hopefully, he wouldn't encounter any resistance. The street guards can be quite pesky.

* * *

'_Two blocks left' _ He thought.

Just as he was about to round the final corner, a guard whom had been in his blind spot noticed him.

"HEY!" The guard yelled, trying to get his voice to carry through the pouring rain. Draven paid him no mind, hoping that if he just ignored him he would go away. Alas, the guard's persistence continued.

"HEY YOU!" The guard was running at him, and yelled something to a group of guards that had noticed the conflict. Draven noticed the newly formed posse of guards now chasing after him and decided to book it. They weren't really hard to dispatch of, but he couldn't do it in the middle of a commonly used street. Improvising, he led them into an alley that only went on for about forty feet before meeting a dead end. The Glorious Executioner put his back to the dead end and faced the newly formed group of guards now standing in front of him.

He did some quick calculations and figured it was only a group of ten, give or take a few. He'd end this quickly if it came to a fight. The front guard who appeared to be the "leader" unsheathed his sword and pointed it at him.

"YOU!" He shouted, obviously trying to use his power over others via authority to intimidate Draven. "WHY DID YOU RUN?!"

Draven said nothing, merely gleaming back at the guard.

"DID I STUTTER?!" The leader yelled again, now getting angry. "ANSWER ME, PEASANT!"

Again, Draven kept his mouth sealed. He sincerely hoped that the guard would just forget about it and leave, he didn't want any more blood on his hands than was necessary. The guard, now infuriated with Draven's blatant disrespect, yelled a battle cry and charged him, sword outstretched. The Executioner frowned for a second, then with incredible speed, he launched his body into movement, after which both the guard and he stood still.

The other guards were perplexed, nervous, and a bit scared. They tried to see what had happened, but their leader's back blocked the view of the mysterious figure. Both still stood up, until a long breath escaped their leaders lips, and with a push from the unknown man, their leader fell onto his back, a long and wicked axe piercing his chest cavity. For a moment, there was silence. Then confusion, since none of them had even see this unidentifiable man reach for a weapon, much less find the time to plunge it into one of their comrades. Then all hell broke loose.

The remainder of the guards unsheathed their weapons, swords, axes, pikes, and maces now adorned their hands. With various cries from the soldiers, they all at once charged the hooded man. He grimaced again and pulled out another axe.

It was a massacre to say the least. Draven's fighting looked like a wicked dance with his axe, performing a masterpiece. The guards were brutally mowed down one at a time. His single axe, never leaving his hand, found its home in multiple vital organs and limbs. Draven, unscratched, rose from the battlefield, inspecting his newest work. The sheer amount of limbs scattered across the ground was slightly nauseating, but he merely brushed it off and tried to steel himself back to his main directive. His hood had been pulled down in the scuffle, so he promptly began to replace it on his head before noticing a guard sputtering at him. The poor soldier was leaning against a wall, left arm cut clean off, several large stab wounds in his chest. He was cursing at Draven, telling him he would never get away with it.

Draven sighed.

Under normal circumstances, he would of let the soldier live. He was obviously immobilized, and he highly doubted that he would bleed out before help arrived. Killing a man that couldn't fend for himself was honorless, and he didn't want to do it. Unfortunately, he had seen Draven's face. Even if they blood loss blurred his vision, there was no way he could mistake Draven's signature Fu Manchu mustache. Allowing this man to live would be allowing himself to be compromised, and that was something that he would most certainly not let happen.

He dropped down to one knee next to the guard, putting his hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry. I don't want to do this. Forgive me in the next life, please." The Executioner said.

Just as he raised his axe and was about to strike a blow to the man's neck, the agonized guard murmured something.

Draven leaned in closer. "What was that?"

"Why?" The guard spoke more distinctly this time. "Why do you do this? Are you not content with your life already? Why must you kill innocents?

The axe came down and with a resounding schlink the man's head rolled clean off his shoulders. Draven stood, dusted himself off, and put both of his axes behind his cape, returning them to their hiding place. He walked down the alley and fixed his hood back on his head.

'_Why do I kill?' _ He thought. The question continually asked itself in his head. His brain searched and searched for an answer, and finally found one.

"Because, there ain't no rest for the wicked."

**A/N: Sorry for my long absence. Been dealing with a lot of shit lately and haven't found much inspiration to write at all. I'm taking a break from my Kha'Zix FF for awhile, so in the meantime I'll write this idea I've had for awhile. R and R, please. Your criticisms and praises mean a lot to me. Thanks.**

**-RDR**


	2. Chapter 2

**Whirling Death**

**Chapter 2: "When the Devil wants to dance with you, you better say never, because a dance with the Devil might last you forever."- Immortal Technique**

The Crownguard manor was truly a sight to behold. It towered four stories high, dwarfing all the houses near. It had an excess of marble statues and pillars that stood in its courtyard. Blue banners hung from every window, but most importantly, it was heavily guarded. Every noble house in Demacia got this type of special treatment. The military would station dozens of soldiers around the houses in an effort to keep the wealthy and influential families protected. There was good reason, of course, for many assassination attempts were made on nobles in Demacia. Few succeeded, although when they did the repercussions were brutal. Turmoil, elections, conferences, the whole lot had to take place before order could be restored.

Draven arrived at the manor at midnight. His most recent brawl with the guards in the alley would be found within the hour, so he had to work fast. Once they were discovered, all guards would be put on high alert, making this damn near impossible, as if it already weren't.

'_Out of all the places...' _Draven thought, '_The fuckin' Crownguard manor has to be my target. Its the most heavily guarded family in all of fuckin' Demacia!'_

Draven sighed before striding up to the gate of the manor. Surrounding the house on all four sides was a gigantic wall, at least fifteen feet high. Even for him, it was to high to climb or jump. Looks like he was going to have to just walk right in, literally. Posted in front of the iron gate were two soldiers, both with pikes in hand. They hadn't noticed him yet, and he was drawing near. Sticking to the shadows, Draven got within striking distance before launching an open fist into the first one's neck. It instantly broke with a resounding crack. The second didn't even have time to move before two muscular hands gripped his throat. The life was choked out of him, and he too fell limp like his comrade. Draven searched their bodies until he found a key which unlocked the gate. Quickly, he slung both their bodies into nearby bushes, hoping they would remain hidden long enough to not blow his cover. He opened the gates with the key and stepped inside Hastily, the executioner scanned his surroundings. In front of him was a long walkway leading up to the front doors of the manor. Standing before the front door were five guards, and he could see many more patrolling the perimeter of the house. Deciding to veer off the walkway, Draven dove into the trees and foliage the large lawn offered. Sticking to cover, he slowly crept to the right side of the house. Two guards were pacing the wall in different directions, attentively looking for any intruders. A window laid on the second story, but he was sure he could jump to it if the guards were "gone". Draven waited patiently, eyeing them as he concocted an idea. They both had to walk beside each other, even if it were for a split second. He waited until the perfect moment… _Now! _An axe spun through the air until it hit the first man's neck, went cleanly through, and then hit the second man's. It cleanly cut through again, continuing until it stuck into the wall of the manor. Both of their heads rolled from their bodies as they both fell down. Draven rose from his hiding spot and pulled his axe from the wall. He sheathed it behind his back, then jumped and grabbed the windowsill with his fingers. He dangled for a second, before showing off impressive strength as he pulled his entire body up with only his fingers. The window was open, so he merely entered. Silently, he stepped through and glanced around. He was in a vacant room, from the looks of it a storage room of some sorts. He unsheathed both of his axes and continued through the room.

From the intel he had received, the two Crownguard champions' rooms were on the third floor. Knowing he was on the second, he quietly crept out from the storage closet into a dark hallway. All the lights in the house were off, so he assumed most of the family and servants were asleep.

Draven made his way through the house silently. Down a corridor, turn left, turn right, down a hallway, up a flight of stairs, turn right. Ah, finally, his destination. Before him stood a door with a plaque above it that read "Luxanna". Directly to its left, was a door with a plaque that read "Garen". Deciding that it would be more efficient to dispose of Lux first, he quietly opened the door and snuck in. It was pitch black, and it took awhile for his eyes to adjust to the light. As they did, he saw the figure of a woman laying in the bed, undoubtedly asleep. He unsheathed one of his axes and slowly crept across the floor. As he was about halfway to the bed, he stepped on an old piece of wood.

_Creeeeeeaaaaaaaaaak_

Draven facepalmed as the figure in the bed started to stir. The noise made from the floorboard clearly blew his cover. Lux sat upright, rubbing her eyes. She saw a silhouette standing in her room.

"Who…" _yawn, _"Who's there?"

No response.

"Hello?" She asked again.

Nothing

"Garen? Is that you?"

The figure began approaching. Impulsively, she grabbed her wand from her nightstand and illuminated the room.

'_FUCK' _ Draven thought, '_Out of all the damn things to blow my cover, an old piece of fucking wood!' _

The executioner resumed his walk to her bed, reaching behind his back for an axe. The sooner he got rid of her the better. As he was a few steps away from her bedside, the entire room lit up, as if someone turned on a light. Except this light was quite blinding, to say the least. He raised his hand to shield his eyes. When they finally adjusted, he saw that the source of the light was Lux's wand. Deciding on split second impulse, he unsheathed an axe and brought his arm forward to launch it. He slightly winced as he already knew the inevitable outcome. In about a second, a pretty blonde girl would have an axe between her eyes, all he need do is finish his throw, which he was about halfway done with.

But the axe never came.

* * *

Acting quickly, Lux launched a light binding. It hit, completely immobilized the assassin, leaving his arm suspended in mid air, axe still in hand.

'_Phew, just in the knick of time. Another few milliseconds and I'd be dead.' _Lux thought.

The assassin growled, unable to do anything against the light that was restraining his body. Lux yelled for Garen, who came stumbling through the door in a matter of seconds in pajamas.

"Lux! What happe-" Garen stopped midway, noticing the hooded man standing a few feet from Lux with an axe in his hand. Acting instinctively, he let out a battle cry and brought his fist to the man's face. Of course, the man couldn't do anything to protect himself, so he took the brunt of the blow. It knocked him on his back and blood spurted from his nose.

"Ah! What the FUCK!" The hooded figure yelled angrily. He brought a hand gingerly to his nose. "You broke my fucking nose you JACKASS! WHY THE FU-" Draven was silenced mid sentence as a second fist collided with his face, knocking him out cold.`

* * *

Draven awoke in a dimly lit room. Analyzing his situation, he noted that he was in a chair, hands and feet bound. His axes were missing and his hood had been removed. So much for "undercover" and "incognito". Across from him was a desk and a chair on the other side of it. After a few minutes of waiting in silence, a door at the end of the room opened and three figures walked inside. They stood on the other side of the desk, but he kept his gaze cast downward at his feet.

Jarvan cleared his throat. "Ahem. Draven, is it?"

He chose not to answer, nor to look at his interrogators.

"Listen Draven, this can be easy and painless. If you so choose to cooperate. If not, then… Well let's just say it would be wise to cooperate." Jarvan spoke again.

He said nothing in return.

"That's it?!" Lux yelled, her voicing an octave to high for Draven's liking. "You come in to my house, kill our guards, try to kill me, and you have NOTHING to say for yourself?"

"Listen little girl," Draven finally spoke, his tone harsh and filled with contempt. "I would rather be butchered here and now than explain my reasons behind my endeavors. Do not confuse my silence with incompetence or fear, because it is neither. I choose to ignore your questions because you would be a waste of air to speak to."

"THAT'S IT!" Garen yelled, bringing his fist up. Jarvan put a hand on his chest, stopping the punch from connecting. "Now is not the time for pain. That comes later."

Garen growled in response.

"So Draven, you sure you don't want to talk? It's your last chance, otherwise we'll have to get our little sadistic duelist to have a "chat" with you. Believe me, you don't want that." Jarvan said.

Draven's silence was his response.

"So be it." Jarvan sighed. "Don't say I didn't warn you. C'mon Lux, Garen, let's go. Draven's got a visitor coming."

A few seconds later the three Demacians left the room and sealed the door shut. Draven tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. He would like to say he wasn't afraid of anything, but he'd be lying if he said there wasn't a pit of fear devouring his stomach.

'_Fuck my life.'_

**A/N: Servers are down so I decided to write this up. Sorry for spelling mistakes, kinda lazy atm and didn't feel like proofreading. Anywaiz, R and R. Oh yeah, things are gonna get kinky next chapter, so be prepared :D**

**-RDR**


	3. Chapter 3

**Darkztarz12: Thanks man, that's the whole point of this story. In everything I write, whether it be something for school, something for you wonderful people at , or just something for myself, I really make an effort to try and use a different perspective. I may not be the most popular on FF, nor do I have a story like "Follow the Wind" with hundreds of reviews, but the whole goal of my stories is to give you a different view of something that is already normally looked at in one set way. I don't want my writing to be the same as everyone else's, instead I try to use my own creativity to spur a completely different chain of interactions. Good writing is rare, but unique writing is rarer.**

**Pedrokotii: That's mighty nice of ya friend 8D. As I sort of rambled on about up there^, I really like twisting known things into my own version. Also, I rarely see fics with Draven, which is a crime. Like seriously people, why? He is such a diverse and good character, not to mention he is one of a kind. Anyways, back on track, I don't like to use "commonly" used champs for my stuff because it gets boring to write about. Don't get me wrong, I really like a lot of the authors on FF, but I get a little tired of seeing Riven, Garen, Katarina, Zed, etc… Its just… Excessive. I like to write about the rejects of FF net, like Kha'Zix and Draven. Sidenote: Don't expect my grammar to be so great please. While I am well versed in the English language, I tend to have to write quickly since I'm on a very demanding schedule with school. I don't get a lot of chances to proofread. **

**nnprovip: I guess I should just talk about that now, huh. In all honesty, I'm not too great at writing lemons. So I'm just a bit… hesitant to start it. Its difficult for me because I don't want it to be horrible, but I know people still want me to write it. I'll get around to it soon, but for now I just don't think I can. To get some more material out in the space between updating the final chapter for my Talon story, I wrote this as a side project, but I'm actually pretty into this idea and story of Draven, so I'll definitely get a few more of these chapters out before finishing the Vayne x Talon x Caitlyn trio. Forgive me pls senpai~~~**

**Blackdust09: Literally as soon as I posted this I reread it and noticed. But it was late at night, and I was tired, so I went to sleep before fixing it. I fixed it now, but thanks for spotting it!**

**Without further adieu…**

* * *

**Whirling Death**

**Chapter 3: "You can find a needle in a haystack very easily with a lighter."-Anonymous**

* * *

It had been hours.

Draven had sat still in wait for hours. Yet no one came. He supposed this was some kind of torture in and of itself. The sinking feeling of dread in his stomach tormented him. It felt like when you missed the last step on a staircase and for a brief moment you fell. Your brain knew everything would be okay, it would almost instantly rationalize that you couldn't be injured from such a small fall. But for that first second while you were suspended in air, maybe even less than a second, your brain would fool itself and you felt like you were falling from a skyscraper. Your heart would sink, and you would actually believe you were going to die. Of course, as soon as the orderly and rational side of your brain kicked in, you would laugh at the momentary fear you felt. But for Draven, it wasn't momentary. It was agonizingly long, and he wished at this point this so called "sadistic torturer" would just get it over with. They had already taken his pride, now all he had was his life, but he was sure they'd take that soon as well.

Then again, he felt like he was way overdue for death's visit. The things he'd done on this job… They made his public executions look like an act of kindness. He had killed men, women, children… He had decimated entire villages, slaughtered the elderly, maimed the defenseless... And for what? The glory of Noxus? What the fuck was that worth when you yourself were an honorless hunting dog? A dog out for blood, trying to get fulfilment in life. But like a dog chasing a car, he wouldn't know what to do if he got it. So yes, a part of him wanted to die. He didn't feel like it would atone him for his sins, but it was a start. Don't get it confused, Draven was NOT suicidal, but if he were in the path of a swinging blade, he may not dodge on purpose. If he had to leave this world, he would like to do it on the battlefield. That was the only place where true family was, family forged by the hardships of war. Soldiers,of any nationality, were the only ones in their cities that held any honor. Politicians, kings, representatives, _champions, _they had no honor. They forfeited it a long time ago. Sold it for their fame and fortune. But soldiers, much like he used to be before he became an assassin, they had all the honor. The soldier who would not be known as the hero, the soldier who would die without a second thought for his country, the unseen and uncelebrated protector, these were the men and women with real honor. And how he envied them so.

Still lost in his thoughts, Draven didn't notice the door open very slowly. A short feminine silhouette entered the room and silently closed the door behind her. She sneakily strode close to the executioner, standing a few feet from him. She was sure he had not noticed her. How could he? He wasn't even looking in her direction and she had made no noise.

"Took you awhile." Draven said, breaking her from her thoughts. A smile crept onto her face.

"Damn, you are pretty good. Interesting…" She trailed off.

A few uncomfortable seconds passed, Draven still stared straight up, head tilted backwards, Fiora still gazed over him with a carnivorous shine in her eyes.

"Well?" He asked.

"Well what?" She responded.

"Are you just going to stand there? Get this shit over with already, I've got places to be."

"Oh, I don't believe you do. Quite the contrary, actually."

"What do you mean?" Draven asked, perplexed.

"You think you can just go back to Noxus?" She began chuckling. "Swain has come forth publicly and stated that Noxus had no affiliation with your actions. They don't want you back, and they have renounced you."

Draven let loose a laugh. A flamboyant, loud, and genuine laugh. Fiora looked at him, clearly confused by his odd course of actions.

Once he regained his composure, he continued. "That figures, heh. Once Noxus has no need for their dogs, they just take the collars off and throw them out. I'm not even surprised. Well, no matter, just finish this so I can at least return to the institute."

It was Fiora's turn to let loose a laugh. "Th-The institute?" She said, cracking up between words. "First off, you tried to kill another champion, second off, you got renounced by the nation you represent. You really think THEY want you back?"

Draven sighed. "So they've renounced me as well?"

"Yes."

"Which means I have no ties to my country and the institute?"

"Yes."

"Which means I am completely unprotected and at Demacia's mercy?"

"Yes."

"Which means you're going to kill me?"

Fiora snaked her way close to Draven, finally becoming illuminated by the poor lighting. For the first time he saw her attire. She wore a skin tight bodysuit, and held a whip in hand. Grabbing him by the throat, she whispered in his ear:

"There, there. Now is not the time to think about death. First I'll break you, your spirit, and your will. Then, when there is nothing left but the hollow case of a man" She paused, carefully thinking out her next words. "Then you have my permission to die."

Draven debated his options. Escape was not a choice, at least not immediately. His hands and feet were still handcuffed, and no matter his strength there was no breaking of them. No weapons were close enough to reach for, and to top it all off, if he made one wrong move, Fiora would probably just gut him. Instead, he merely waited, prepared to endure the pain until an opening came.

And endure he did.

Three hours. Three hours had passed since Fiora had begun her meticulous torturing. First she had stripped him completely, though he did not particularly mind. He even laughed a little at Fiora's surprised reaction to his large manhood. She would shut him up soon though, as she began pouring buckets upon buckets of ice cold water on him. The first few were the worst, but after awhile he realized that his body had become totally numb and he couldn't even feel it splashing all over his body. She had actually done him a favor by numbing him to the pain, but soon she sat herself in his lap and began kissing him all over. His lips, throat, neck, chest, arms, nothing was off limits. Much to his detestment, he soon began to feel warm again. Her body heat combined with constant teasing was very quickly heating his body back up. As soon as he had returned to a normal state, her onslaught continued. She brought out a tray of wicked looking tools. He was stabbed, sliced, burned, and gagged over and over again. Finally, after three hours of torment, she began to get off him completely and put her tools up. All except for one, which was a long blade with a few designs and inscriptions written on it.

"Sadly, is going to come to an end soon." Fiora stated as she began undressing. "But don't worry, there's going to be a grand finale! If you live long enough you might even get to see me cum! How fortunate for you!" Now with a hand between her legs, Fiora began to rub furiously at her nether as she approached the helpless Draven.

He was quite the sight to see, The Glorious Executioner, loved by all Noxians, feared by all criminals, known as a strong hero to his country, reduced to… this. His head was down, either because he passed out or did not have the strength to lift it. His naked body was quite literally _covered _in cuts and incisions, each one made in precisely the correct place to inflict as much pain possible without killing. His blood was splattered all over the floor, pooling at his feet like a tunnel directly to hell.

Fiora, now standing over Draven with the sword raised high in one hand, moaned and bit her lip.

"Any last… mm… words, Draven?" She said.

"Yeah…" He said, his head still down and his body not moving at all. "Remember what I said about me being a hunting dog without a collar?"

"Oh, how could I forgot dear?"

"Well, do you know what a dog without a collar is?"

"No, ...oh!... Please mm… Please tell me!" She moaned.

"When a dog is forsaken by his master and thrown to the wild, he only has two choices. Die or live. And the only way a stray dog can live…" Suddenly Draven's body reanimated and he rocked forward with extreme force, causing his body to leave the chair and head directly into Fiora. He slammed into her, knocking her to the ground and knocking the sword from her hand. He stood up fast as lightning, and before she could do anything, he struck over the head with both of clenched fists that were still in handcuffs. She slumped back to the ground, blood beginning to flow from the wound on her head Draven had just inflicted. He hobbled to her bag of knives, looking through it briefly before finding what he was looking for.

Draven smiled as he produced a key from the bag. He inserted it into both sets of cuffs on his hands and feet and they came off. Now that his limbs were free, he took a moment to stretch before walking over to the exotic looking sword she had wielded earlier and picked it up for himself. He put his pants back on, but refrained from putting on his shirt and hood If he was going to get out of here, then he wouldn't sneak out. He would kill his way out.

Fiora turned over onto her back and looked up to see an imposing Draven standing over her with her own sword in his hand.

"Wa-W-Wait… Please…." She murmured, her head still swimming from the blow to her head.

"The only way a stray dog can live…" Fiora's eyes widened, as Draven repeated his statement. "Is to become a wolf." The sword came down and Fiora started a scream but was quickly silenced as her own blood now painted the room. She brought both hands to her throat and felt the blood seeping, no, pouring out of it. She tried to yell for help, but couldn't get anything out besides gurgling.

"A fitting end, wouldn't you say?" Draven taunted. "The well known, outspoken duelist gets her throat slit."

She merely stared back with eyes that showed only hate.

"Well, I'd love to stay here, but I'm losing quite a bit of blood from your 'playtime', so I must be off. Unlike you, I'm not planning on dying today. Not until I get revenge, at least."

Draven stepped out the door and into a well lit hallway. Fiora's blade in hand, he could already hear sirens going off and guard's yelling in the distance. His own body still leaked blood as he half walked half limped forward. For the first time in many years, Draven was angry at someone other than himself. Hell, he was angry at everyone, including himself. And soon, all who did this to him would feel the fury of the executioner's wrath. First things first, though, he needed to find his axes…

* * *

**A/N: So I should be studying but fuck that. Go procrastination! About this chapter, I originally planned for Draven and Fiora to /bang/ but decided that a different course of action would be better. So yeah, Fiora's hella dead btw, that bitch is not coming back. Also, the title of this is foreshadowing, and if any of you don't get it the title is metaphor which basically means that "Some things are very easy when approached from a different direction." R and R friends, and keep it real.**

**-RDR**


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